What Vulcans Do
by hufflelit
Summary: Commander Spock and Cadet Uhura must decide what path their relationship will take in the future.  Pre-movie.


He called her to his desk at the end of the lesson. That in itself was nothing unusual; she was his aide, and they generally discussed their research (and, in the past few months, music, books, Vulcan and Human history, the intricacies of Starfleet's social hierarchy, and other such things) after class, frequently continuing the conversation in his office.

She had a feeling, however, that these topics would not be discussed today.

She dawdled with her PADD and satchel as long as she could while the other students filed out of the classroom. Looking up subtly through her eyelashes, she saw him talking to one of his female students, who obviously had a crush on him. One of his _other_ female students who obviously had a crush on him.

Oh, god, what had she done?

The other girl left with a warm smile and a cheerful "Thanks, Commander!", to which Spock responded only with a brief nod. Nyota wondered if she was about to be dismissed the same way.

_Get a grip, Nyota_, she told herself sternly.

They were alone in the room now. No point in putting off the inevitable. She, at least, could handle rejection like an adult. She squared her shoulders and approached his desk.

"You wished to see me, Commander?"

"Indeed. Commander Duplin's first year Conversational Vulcan class will be utilizing this room shortly. Will you accompany me to my office?"

She tried to say yes, couldn't quite manage it, and so just nodded. He returned the nod and headed towards the door, not bothering to make sure she was following him.

They didn't speak during the four and a half minutes it took to reach his office. When they entered, she waited for him to take his usual seat behind his desk, but instead he led her to a low, padded bench between two small bookshelves, which she knew from experience held a handwritten copy of the Klingon History of Warriors, illuminated Romulan dictionaries for all three dialects, several tomes of Vulcan poetry, and a book of traditional stories from Kenya, written in Swahili.

Nyota took the offered seat on the bench, leaving room for him to join her. The Commander, however, took one of the chairs that stood in front of his desk, and sat facing her.

They both remained silent. Nyota wondered if she was expected to start. It seemed like she had already said enough, however, last night when they'd been working together for hours, and he had been leaning over her shoulder, wearing that almost-smile that she valued above anyone else's laugh, and the light had hit his cheekbones in _that_ way, and he had said, "Well done, Miss Uhura," and she had said, "Call me Nyota," and kissed him, like an _idiot_, and of course he hadn't kissed her back; he'd just stood up straight and said, "Thank you, Nyota," and walked away and she had left immediately and now they were here, and he was probably going to assign her to another advisor, just three weeks before her thesis was due, and how the hell would _that_ look on her permanent record?

"Nyota."

She straightened up to hide the little, shameful shiver of delight that had run down her spine at the sound of her name in his smooth, level voice that was so soothing and so damn unsettling, all at once.

"I have reflected on the matter, and believe it would be prudent to discuss the events of yesterday evening."

"Yes, Commander," she agreed. He looked at her expectantly, and she thought there was a hint of almost… anxiety?… in his eyes. Maybe she couldn't read him as well as she thought.

"The hour was late," he said at last. "Perhaps you have been overextending yourself recently. You were exhausted."

Nyota felt her face heat up with surprise. He was trying to give her a way out – a way of excusing her actions, and allowing them to continue working together. It was generous, it was useful, it was… utterly and painfully heartbreaking.

She didn't know what she had hoped for, and was more than a little surprised to discover that it wasn't this. A way to save her research and her career. She should take it from him with both hands.

Instead, she felt her hands knotting in her lap as she said, "No, Commander."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, and now she could definitely read him – any half-bright Human could see that Spock was surprised.

"No?"

"No," she repeated. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as she tried to formulate her explanation.

"My actions last night… were impulsive, and… perhaps inappropriate. I apologize if they were unwelcome. But they were not a mistake."

Spock looked intently into her eyes for a moment longer, then looked away, his eyebrows lowered, his lips slightly parted. His face hadn't changed much, but she could tell he was discomposed. It was a welcome realization, as was the realization that her hands had stopped shaking. At least now, when he reassigned her, it would be with the knowledge of her sincerity. She wasn't just one of his students with a crush. It was important that he understand that. She tried not to examine her feelings too closely to determine if it was more important than her career.

"Your actions," Spock said, his voice low, his eyes still directed downward, "were not unwelcome."

He glanced up to see her response, and she tried to arrange her facial expression into something more confident than wide-eyed shock. Her kiss – not unwelcome to him? Not that she hadn't sometimes suspected… But she had always dismissed it as wishful thinking.

Nyota felt her mouth begin to curve into a smile. "I'm glad to hear it, Commander."

He frowned and shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "When we are alone, I would ask that you call me Spock."

Her smile broadened. "Okay. Spock."

A ghost of a smile flitted across his features. He looked at her for a moment longer before getting up and taking a seat next to her on the bench.

"Nyota," he said, and this time, the pleasurable shiver was accompanied by a hopeful swelling somewhere in the region of her heart. "This situation is a delicate one. Cultivating an unprofessional relationship with your instructor could damage your career."

"And yours," she pointed out. They were sitting close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body. His point was valid. But she had made her choice weeks ago.

"Agreed," he said. "Such a relationship would not be logical."

She quirked the corner of her mouth upwards. "It feels logical."

Spock frowned slightly. "Situations do not _feel_ logical, Miss Uhura. They _are_ logical, or they are not."

The other corner of her mouth curved into a smile, too. "Of course."

"Ah," Spock said, raising his left eyebrow. "You are being humorous."

"Not especially."

He let out a small puff of air and compressed his mouth into a thinner line. He was irritated now, which was a surprise. She had never irritated him before, even in their most heated (perhaps too strong a term) linguistic debates.

"Spock," she said, relishing the freedom of calling him by his name, a name maybe only a handful of people on the entire planet got to use. "I'm not being foolish, and I'm not being controlled by my emotions." She paused to emphasize the point, but he remained motionless. "I understand the risks of what you're proposing, and I've made my choice. You need to make yours."

His face was serious, even more so than usual. He lowered his eyes, and she followed his gaze to her left hand, where it rested between them on the bench.

Nyota watched as he moved his right hand from his knee, and slowly, almost tentatively, curled his fingers around hers. His skin was smooth and hot. Nyota leaned towards him and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"I have made it," he said, voice low and rough, and although she had been telling herself for the past twelve and a half hours, in between bouts of hopeless self-recrimination, that if they ever kissed again, he would have to initiate it, his voice and his nearness and his hand on hers felt so all-consuming that, before she knew it, she had leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his with an urgency that, for a moment, was totally unreciprocated.

Confused, and more than slightly embarrassed, she leaned back and looked at him. Spock's eyes opened and he tilted his head quizzically.

"Why did you desist?"

"I – You didn't… Do you want to kiss me?" she asked, feeling flustered.

"Ah," Spock said, looking past her shoulder, and she could have sworn he was, in his way, as flustered as she was, although she generally tried to avoid assigning him emotions for which there was no Vulcan word.

"I believe I am… not adept at that Human method of expressing affection."

"Oh."

She was stunned. Seven years of Xenolinguistics at the university and Starfleet levels, of studying alien languages, cultures, societies and manners, not to mention numerous fantasies revolving around her half-Vulcan professor, and it had never once occurred to her that Vulcans didn't kiss.

"However," he said, "it is not unpleasant. If you are amenable, I believe I will be a fast learner."

He was giving her his half-smile again, and she grinned. All of her perfect fantasies paled in comparison to this reality, with all its little awkwardnesses and anxieties.

"What do Vulcans do to express affection?" she asked, moving closer to him.

He considered. "A fascinating question. Very little, in the presence of others."

"Of course."

She couldn't resist touching him for long, however, now that it was allowed. She ran her fingers along the sharp line of his cheekbone, reveling in the feeling of his skin. It was smooth and felt almost waxen, but was soft and warm. His eyes drifted closed and he leaned into her touch as she traced his jaw, from his chin back to the curve of bone below his right ear. Her fingers rounded the outside of the stiff lobe, and he shivered as they reached the pointed tip.

His eyes opened, and they had grown darker, almost less human, and yet more expressive. He raised his right hand to her cheek and mirrored her examination of his face, caressing her jaw, her lower lip, the side of her throat. His long, warm fingers ran along the edge of her small, curved ear, and he watched them, as if fascinated, as they traced the low arch of her right eyebrow.

She realized then that he found her as fascinating and enthralling as she found him; that he had wanted to touch her, if not for as long, then certainly as much, as she had wanted to touch him. She felt almost giddy with the knowledge. His touch was intoxicating.

She felt his hand move to the side of her neck again, and he stroked its length with fingers paired in the Vulcan gesture of wellbeing and friendship. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, and she thought, _This is what Vulcans do_, before she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him again.

Knowing what she knew now, she could understand his stillness, and kissed him slowly and gently, giving him time to learn the movements, and to become accustomed to the slide and the pressure of her lips.

Hesitantly at first, his lips began to move against hers, and she changed her movements to accommodate his, letting him kiss her, rather than the other way around.

Her heart was pounding in her chest; she felt like she couldn't breathe fast enough to keep up with it, and as she gasped against his mouth, he made a noise low in his chest, almost like a feline purr, and pulled her closer. His heart was pounding, too; she could feel it against her stomach, through both their uniforms, and although she had only done this sort of thing a handful of times, she was sure that it had never felt like _this_ before, and that it would never feel like this with anyone again.

When they parted at last, both breathing heavily, Nyota leaned her forehead back against Spock's, her hands on either side of his face. His fingers traced slow circles on the nape of her neck, and the thumb of his other hand moved up and down against the small of her back.

"You _are_ a fast learner," she told him, grinning and tilting her face in for another, brief kiss.

He traced the slope of her cheek with his nose and she shivered.

"You are an excellent teacher."

A/N: Reviews are love! I have a sequel to this, which I'll post if there is interest.

Thank you for reading!


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